


Just A Little Of Your Love

by nothingwithoutyouxo



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-04-21 16:59:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14289303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingwithoutyouxo/pseuds/nothingwithoutyouxo
Summary: The tale of Ilse setting up two of her friends and it actually working....Date idea #1: Take a boy you’ve met to an art gallery and listen to him talk about the use of colours and lighting and the emotions they evoke, even if you have no idea what it all means.





	1. Another Recovering Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This has literally been sitting half finished on my laptop for months and I finally burst out the rest of this chapter last night so I can actually post it! This fic is literally just these two boy falling in love over the course of five dates. It's so simple and yet I needed to write. So here you go!
> 
> All the titles in this are taken from A Little of Your Love by HAIM.

“I really think you’d like him, Melchi. This is my absolute best idea ever. Just you wait.”

 

The late autumn breeze brought a significant chill to the air that swirled around them as they made their way through Central Park. Ilse was clutching her coffee cup in both hands, using it to keep warm, as Wendla and Melchior flanked her on either side. She heard Wendla laugh at her last statement and turned to teasingly poke her tongue out at her girlfriend. 

 

“Wouldn’t that be asking me out?” Wendla smirked.

 

“It’s my second best idea ever,” she amended. “Better?”

 

Melchior shook his head as his two friends started squabbling next to him. It was more teasing than anything, play fighting even, and ended with Ilse letting go of her coffee cup with one hand so she could wrap her arm around Wendla’s shoulders, pulling her against her side. Melchior felt a pang in his chest for just a second. He was used to being a third wheel for the two of them, and they really tried to make sure that he felt like he wasn’t, but sometimes he just wished that he had what they had. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat as the wind picked up again and thought about what Ilse was proposing. 

 

“Ok, you have to at least tell me about him. You can’t set me up with someone if I know nothing about them,” he said, trying to sound logical because Ilse had yet to tell him anything that wasn’t ‘you’ll like him’ or ‘he’s amazing’.

 

Ilse kissed the top of Wendla’s head gently, releasing her and taking her hand instead before turning to smile at Melchior. “You met him at the cast party,” she reminded. “You should already know about him.”

 

“Do you remember how many people were there? I have no idea who he was.”

 

She nodded at that as if to say ‘ _ Point taken’ _ . “You just want me to do all the work for you so you don’t have to get to know him,” she teased.

 

Her just glared at her, his eyes glinting behind his glasses. 

 

Ilse nudged him with her elbow. “Alright, fine. What do you want to know?”

 

Melchior paused for a moment. He hadn’t really thought this far ahead. He kind of just hoped that Ilse would unleash a whole bunch of facts about this boy so he’d at least have  _ something  _ to go off. “Um,” he muttered, and ignored Wendla’s giggle. “I don’t know. What does he do?”

 

“Well, if he was at my cast party what do you think he does?”

 

“Ok so he’s an actor?”

 

“No, he’s a photography student but that was a good guess.”

 

He looked over at her, waiting for her to take this seriously. Ilse shrugged, still smiling at him. 

 

“I think I have a picture of him somewhere,” Wendla piped up, trying to find her phone with frozen hands. 

 

“Really?” Ilse turned to her. “He hates pictures.”

 

“He hates posing for them,” she explained. “The key is to take them when he’s not looking. He’s actually a good subject if you get him at the right time.”

 

Melchior waited as Wendla managed to get a hold of her phone, scrolling back through an endless amount of memes, screenshotted snapchats and pictures of scenery (and Ilse). Ilse was right of course, photos of Moritz were rare, especially if they weren’t group shots -  and it was even rarer to have one of him smiling - he much rathered being behind the camera, but Wendla always loved collecting pictures of her friends. She had candids of everyone, it was just her thing. She found one from a month or so ago. She, Moritz, Ilse and Ernst had had a picnic in Central Park not far from where they were now. It was to celebrate finishing their mid-term exams. Moritz was laughing in the picture, one hand partially covering his face as he hugged his knees to his chest with his free arm. It was one of her favourites. She passed the phone to Ilse who made an ‘awww’ sound at the sight of it. 

 

“Was this at our picnic?” she asked.

 

Wendla nodded. “It was during Ernst’s Bobby Maler impression.”

 

Ilse laughed at the memory. “That was a good day,” she replied before showing the picture to Melchior. “Any memories flooding back to you?”

 

Melchior looked at the picture. Moritz looked like pretty much every person that had been at Ilse’s last cast party, except for the hair. He vaguely remembered seeing someone who looked like Moritz standing in a corner with Ernst, who looked like he was trying to coax him out of said corner, but he was pretty sure he never spoke to him. “Yeah I think I might have saw him there,” he said.

 

“Well then you know him well enough to go on a date,” she shrugged, handing Wendla back her phone. 

 

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

 

“Of course that’s how it works. How else would it work? You meet someone and you ask them out except I did that for you.”

 

“I don’t think trying to set your friends up counts as asking someone out on their behalf,” Wendla laughed, sliding her phone back into her pocket and taking Ilse’s hand again. 

 

“Such betrayal from one I love so deeply.”

 

“Keep the drama for when you’re acting,” Melchior nudged her, laughing.

 

***

 

Milkyor Ga-bi:  _ Ok but really I need to know more about this guy before I go out with him. What if I hate him? What if he hates me? What if everything falls to shit? Also, what the hell are we going to do on a date? I don’t know anything about him. So he’s a photography student? Why is that all she’s told me? How am I supposed to plan a date with that? He likes art so I take him to an art gallery? Seriously, Wendla, help me _

 

Wendla read the text from Melchior and couldn’t help but laugh. It’d been awhile since he’d been on a date with anyone so she’d forgotten just how flustered he got. He wasn’t a nervous person until it came to dating, since he seemed to be so sure that on a date he had to  _ impress  _ someone. She was certain that he felt even more pressured to do so this time, because Moritz was one of Ilse’s best friends and he didn’t want to make it complicated for her. Really he should have known that she wouldn’t have put him in this kind of position if she thought it would get complicated, or end badly. Ilse was smarter than that. 

 

_ ‘Somehow in all your nervous panic you’ve thought of a great date idea. An art gallery would be perfect x’  _ she texted back, trying to reassure him. 

 

Milkyor Ga-bi:  _ Give me more than That _

 

She thought very carefully about her next answer, knowing that it was incredibly important. She didn’t want to give away too much because the point of this was for the two of them to get to know each other on their own terms, but Ilse really wasn’t giving him anything to work with. 

 

_ ‘I don’t know what I can tell you, Melchi. He’s quiet and he probably won’t talk too much straight away. He’s a pretty nervous person and jittery. If you get stuck just ask him about his art. Oh, and don’t mention his family if you can avoid it.’ _

 

Milkyor Ga-bi:  _ I’m really nervous, Wendla. Why am I nervous?  _

 

Wendla just smiled at that. ‘ _ What time do you want me to tell him to meet you at the art gallery?’ _

 

Milkyor Ga-bi:  _ Literally when the fuck is it ok to be at an art gallery? Morning? Afternoon? The dead of night? I haven’t been to an art gallery in … not since Ernst’s last exhibition I think _

 

_ ‘I’ll tell him to be there at 12. Dress casual. You’ll be fine’ _

 

***

 

Wendla and Ilse went almost two days without hearing much from either Melchior or Moritz. They guessed that maybe the two of them were somehow mentally preparing themselves for their sort-of date and decided to leave them to their own devices. Surely they would hear from both of them after the date anyway, whether it be good or bad. Of course, they were hoping it would go well. The two girls were sitting across from each other in one of Ilse’s favourite cafes when Wendla’s phone vibrated against the table. 

 

“I wonder who that could be,” Ilse joked as Wendla easily picked up her phone. 

 

Church Steeple:  _ H E L P  M E E E E  _

 

Wendla smiled and showed the text to Ilse who quickly burst into a fit of laughter. 

 

“What’s the bet he just woke up?”

 

“There’s no bet,” Ilse smirked. “That’s absolutely what happened.”

 

The clock on the coffee shop wall said that it was just after 11. Moritz still had enough time to get to the art gallery. He could definitely make it. 

 

‘ _ Black jeans, Green Day shirt, red hoodie. Be yourself x’  _ Wendla texted back, not having to wait long for a response.

 

Church Steeple: ilu

 

Ilse’s phone beeped next. She knew who it would be without even checking.

 

The Ritz:  _ your gf is Good and im love herr _

 

To which she responded with a simple  _ ‘watch yourself (ง •̀_•́)ง’ _

 

***

 

There was absolutely no reason for Melchior to be nervous, and he knew that. There was no pressure on this date. He didn’t even know Moritz, not really, so what did it matter if this went badly? Why should he care if Moritz ended up hating him? It’s not like he’ll see him that often, just occasionally whenever Ilse has a party of some sort. They could be civil with each other. He didn’t need to be worried about this. Yet, he was. He was  _ really  _ worried about this. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a successful date. Of course, there were the ones that had lead to his last few relationships but those had all soured in time. He didn’t even know if he could  _ do  _ this. Melchior took a deep breath. He checked the clock on his phone absently. He was still early. Moritz still had ten minutes to get there. What if he didn’t come? That wasn’t something he wanted to think about. 

 

***

 

Moritz was nothing short of horrified as he steadily made his way through the packed New York streets. He loved the city, really, but he hated just how many people there were. It always made him feel kind of sick. Or maybe that was just the date that he was supposed to be on. He panicked for a moment, realising that he was pretty sure he didn't even remember what Melchior looked like. Fumbling for his phone with shaking hands he managed to stab out a text to Ilse explaining that. 

 

‘ _ Ilse what the duck does he look like’ _

 

Pirate Queen:  _ I can guarantee you that he's wearing a denim jacket with fur around the hood. He looks like a nerd  _

 

Denim jacket and glasses. Well at least that gave him something to work with. Moritz wasn't sure if he was breathing anymore but he quickened his pace as he rounded the last few corners to the art gallery, his eyes scanning every single person almost suspiciously as he tried to find Melchior, stress bubbling up when he couldn't seem to find him straight away. He knew that he needed to calm down and as his eyes locked onto someone that matched Ilse’s description, and that he vaguely remembered seeing at the cast party she was sure they were both at, he tried to take a deep breath. Scaring Melchior off because Moritz was a ball of nerves really wouldn't be the best way start to this. Melchior looked up as if he could feel Moritz’s eyes on him, offering him a little wave as he approached and  _ oh shit he's attractive.  _

 

“Hey,” Melchior smiled as Moritz stopped in front of him. 

 

_ Shit shit shit shit.  _ “Uh, hey,” Moritz replied, trying to return his earlier wave. 

 

“I'm Melchior.”

 

“I know.”   _ Shit that sounded horrible.  _ “Sorry I didn't mean to sound -”

 

“No that's ok,” he shrugged. 

 

Moritz hesitated. He wasn't good at meeting people or making small talk, or even conversation in general. He seemed to lead again with the word most familiar to him, “Sorry.”

 

“Did you want to go -” Melchior said at the same time, pointing behind him towards the gallery. 

 

The two of them stopped, Moritz stared pointedly at the ground out of embarrassment. Melchior just laughed. “No apology needed.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Melchior checked the time on his phone absently (no text from Ilse) and then looked back to the boy in front of him. Moritz was pulling at his sleeves, twisting them around his hands and then untwisting again. Melchior found himself thinking that Moritz was kind of  _ cute _ . He shifted, grabbed onto the door before it fell closed behind someone and indicated for Moritz to walk in first. “After you.”

 

Moritz looked up at him, confused. Sure it was an innocent gesture, but no one had really opened a door for him before. At least not on a date. He didn't really know what to do. “Thanks,” he muttered and hoped that it sounded genuine. 

 

Melchior followed, letting the door close behind him. His eyes followed Moritz as he looked around the room. It kind of reminded him of what someone would feel like coming home after a long time. 

 

“Um tickets?” Moritz looked up at him and Melchior was pulled back down into reality again. 

 

“Shit, we need tickets?” He should have checked that. Why didn't he check that? Why didn't he even visit the damn art gallery website?

 

“It's just for their temporary exhibitions. The permanent stuff is free.”

 

What Melchior gathered from that was that the  _ good  _ stuff needed a ticket. He was fishing for his wallet before he even registered his hands moving. 

 

“Oh, you don't have to - I mean, it's not important. There's other stuff -” Moritz faltered. He could feel his heart beating heavily in his heat because  _ don't let this boy you just met spend money on you.  _ But Melchior just smiled at him and shrugged. 

 

“I probably should have thought ahead” he said and started towards the ticket desk. “Sorry, that's my bad. I haven't been to an art gallery in a while.”

 

Before Moritz could protest the two of them were at the front of the line and Melchior was paying for the tickets. The lady behind the counter put an orange wristband on each of them and then they were walking into the art gallery. Moritz felt light headed. 

 

“Are you ok?” Melchior asked. He sounded concerned and Moritz had no idea why he would. 

 

Moritz picked absently at his wristband. The colour was something that he'd seen Ilse paint with recently. Some painting of a sunset that someone commissioned her to do. “Why haven't you been to an art gallery in a while?” he asked, forcing himself to talk. 

 

“I only go if one of my friends are having one of those - uh, what’s the word? Like when they have their art on show and stuff.”

 

“Showings?” Moritz supplied, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face. 

 

“Please tell me you're joking.”

 

“No, they're actually called showings.”

 

Melchior ran a hand over his face and groaned. “Ok now I just sound like an idiot,” he said. 

 

“No, it's ok,” Moritz laughed. “Art isn't your thing.”

 

“Yeah. It's ok and I have nothing against it but it's not really my thing,” he confirmed. 

 

“If it’s not your thing then why did you want to come here?” he asked.

 

Melchior shrugged, he wished his nerves would subside so he could properly hold a conversation. “Ilse mentioned you were a photography student,” he explained. “It was the first thing I thought of.”

 

_ Art isn’t even his thing and he brought you here because he thought you would like it _ . Holy shit. Moritz wasn’t sure what he was going to tell Ilse yet when this date was over. He wasn’t even sure if he should be thinking about that yet since it didn’t seem fair to Melchior at all, but whatever it was he was sure the message was going to start with an insanely long keyboard smash followed by ‘where the hell did you find this guy and why did you think I could deserve him’. 

 

“Do you like animals?”

 

Moritz blinked and looked up at Melchior, and shit he’d zoned out already. He must have looked like such a tool. But Melchior was smiling politely. He pointed ahead of them at a sign that read ‘Nature Photographer of the Year Exhibition.’ 

 

“I mean, I don’t hate animals,” he replied and for some reason that seemed to make Melchior laugh as they started heading in the direction of the room. Moritz couldn’t help the fact that it made his heart skip a beat in the best kind of way.

 

“I don’t think anyone does.”

 

“You’d be a pretty shitty person if you did.”

 

The room was set up so that the exhibition was a giant circle. The entire room was white, making the various sized canvases stand out even more. Melchior supposed that that was probably the point of it. The exhibition was split up into categories, Moritz explained. Anyone could enter the exhibition but you had to enter under one category and be judged from there. There was about 10 images under each category, and then the winner. The two of them slowly moved around the room, judging each of the images one by one. Melchior listened to Moritz talk about various angles, uses of colour and editing and what he thought worked and didn’t work. It wasn’t usually something that Melchior would have found an interest in, but for some reason, hearing it from Moritz just pulled him in immediately, and he wanted to know more. 

 

“I think this is my favourite so far,” Moritz muttered. “At least in this category. Landscape photos aren’t always that good but this is … this is masterpiece.”

 

Melchior was sure that the masterpiece was actually the boy next to him, but there was no way he was going to say that. “Yeah?” he prompted, eager to hear what Moritz said next. He’d realised through knowing Ilse and Ernst, and now Moritz, that artists saw things in a completely different way to what he did. Moritz was pulling things out of these works that he never would have even thought to look for, and truly it was beyond fascinating.

 

“I mean, firstly it’s a long exposure shot which is probably my weakness when it comes to these kind of shots, you know?”

 

Melchior really didn’t know, but he wanted to. “I’m going to sound like a complete idiot but,” he paused, waited for Moritz to look up at him, “what the hell is a long exposure shot?” 

 

The way Moritz’s eyes lit up at that made the question worth it. He smiled. “I’ll explain it as simply as I can,” he said. “Basically you find where you want to take your shot and you leave you camera there for a while and it takes a really long photo.”

 

“Wouldn’t that be taking a picture of the time passing instead of the object?”

 

“Well, yes. That’s why they look so good.”

 

Melchior looked up at the photo again. He nodded. “I guess you’re right.”

 

Moritz swallowed, looking down and pulling at his sleeves. “Sorry,” he said. He could feel Melchior’s eyes on him again.

 

“I’m not sure what you’re apologising for,” he admitted. 

 

“It’s - I’m geeking out over all this and you know absolutely nothing about any of it. This must be really weird for you.”

 

“Hey,” Melchior muttered, nudging Moritz gently so he would look up at him. “I just learnt what a long exposure shot was. I’m getting a lot out of this, don’t worry.”

 

***

When Moritz stumbled blindly into this date it was with an incredible sense of panic and an hyperaware self-consciousness. He wasn’t expecting to smile nearly as much as he was. “I haven’t asked what your thing is yet?” he said, as the two of them were trying to make sense of an incredibly unnerving sculpture. 

 

“Hmm?” Melchior muttered, he was squinting behind his glasses, probably trying to look closer somehow at what he was seeing. Moritz had noticed him do it more than once, it was like he was trying to see things differently. He was debating whether or not he should tell Ilse later than he found it absolutely adorable. 

 

“I’ve spent this whole time talking about me, about my thing, but I haven’t asked about yours,” he clarified.

 

“Oh, you mean like my art thing? Like the thing that I do that’s equivalent to your art?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Uh,” Melchior muttered, pulling at his glasse absently and looking away from the sculpture. They slowly started moving towards the next work. “Literature, mostly,” he said. 

 

Moritz almost laughed because  _ of course  _ it was literature. There was no way that it could have been anything else. “Do you write?” he asked.

 

“Critically. For my classes mostly, I guess.”

 

“Well, obviously but do you  _ write _ ?”

 

Melchior looked over at him. It took him far longer than it should have to register what he meant. “Oh you mean like my own stuff? Uh, I used to a lot but I don’t really. Not anymore. I’ve kind of gotten more into journalism because I picked up a minor in it but I’m not like a prolific writer of any kind. I wish I could be but honestly it’s -”

 

“Hard?” Moritz offered. 

 

Melchior coughed and as Moritz realised what he’d just said his eyes widened in horror.

 

“I guess,” he tried to recover, “all kinds of art is difficult.”

 

“Yep,” he confirmed. “It’s, um, people think writing is really easy.”

 

“I’m sure that people that think that haven’t tried it.”

 

Melchior bit down on his lip and Moritz had to fight off the urge to face palm. 

 

“I swear I’m not intending for this to sound as weirdly sexual as it does,” he said.

 

Melchior couldn’t help but laugh at that, at the innocence of it all. “It’s fine,” he replied. “Really.”

 

The first thing Moritz realised was that he wasn’t uncomfortable in this moment at all. The second was that he wanted to make Melchior laugh all the time. 

 

***

 

They stayed there so long that one of the members of staff had to approach them to remind them that they were closing. Moritz spluttered out about a million apologies to her, but she didn’t seem fussed by it at all. He supposed that it was just part of her job. Surely heaps of people got lost looking at art and definitely not at boys (well one boy in particular) on a regular basis. This was absolutely a total normal thing that happened all time. They definitely weren’t the only two people left there at that time. At least, that’s what he was trying to convince himself. 

 

The issue was that now he and Melchior were standing awkwardly outside the art gallery that they’d just low key got kicked out of and Moritz had no idea what to say to him. Fortunately, Melchior seemed to be better with words than he was. 

 

“Is it weird if I ask you for your number?”

 

For a split second, Moritz was sure that he’d either heard wrong or that Melchior was joking. He couldn’t have been serious. Right? “Does that mean you want to see me again?” he asked, because he was a complete and utter fool. 

 

Melchior smiled at that, ran a hand through his hair sheepishly and Moritz knew he shouldn’t have gotten distracted by that but he did anyway. “Is that a trick question?”

 

“No, I just - really?”

 

“Really.” Melchior held out his phone and watched Moritz struggle with just the idea of giving someone his number. He made a mental note to ask Ilse who’d hurt Moritz and in what order he needed to punch them. 

 

Moritz swallowed, took a deep breath that he wished Melchior hadn’t noticed and took the phone, typing his number in easily. He added the camera emoji next to his name and managed to avoid instant regret because of the way Melchior smiled at it when he saw it. 

 

“Good choice,” he said.

 

Moritz shrugged. “Seemed fitting.”

 

The two of them hesitated, neither really wanting to leave but knowing that they sort of had to at this point. 

 

“I’ll text you,” Melchior said. “Unless you’re one of those weird people that prefers calls.”

 

Moritz smiled at that, shook his head. “I’m not an animal,” he joked, and god he hoped he could make Melchior laugh every time he saw him. 

 

“I’ll see you later, yeah?”

 

Moritz wasn’t sure but he thought he could hear just a hint of nerves in Melchior’s voice. Just a touch of insecurity. “If I’m lucky,” he replied, and wondered if that would be considered flirting. Melchior’s eyes lit up in a way that he thought might have been confirmation, and then he was muttering a goodbye and heading off in the opposite direction to where Moritz needed to go to head back to his apartment. He was already reaching for his phone, opening the messenger app and selecting the groupchat he had with Ilse and Wendla. Even if his brain was sort of short circuiting right now, he knew he had a lot to tell them. 


	2. I’ve Never Felt Nothing Like That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date idea #2: Take a boy you know to a record store and watch him browse for hours as he talks about the music he grew up with

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super long wait. Y'all should know by now that I'm infamous for not having a regular schedule. This chapter is almost double the length of the first one though so hopefully that makes up for it. If it doesn't feel like it flows perfectly after the first one, I am sorry about that. I wrote it months after, and I get caught up in a lot of new things for the characters, and of course, added some faves that hadn't been present yet. Hope you guys like it <3

“It has been three days!”

 

The coffee shop hurtled to a stop as everyone in the room looked up at the girl who’d spoken. Her eyes were locked on someone behind the counter who’d turned at the sound of her voice, she didn’t seem to have spared a thought for the other people around. 

 

Melchior swallowed absently, his eyes quickly finding his manager. Georg was looking at him, eyebrows raised and smirking. “I’m going to … go on my break,” he muttered before quickly jumping out from behind the counter and making his way over to her. “Wendla, what in the world -”

 

Wendla just giggled in response. “Did you like it? Dramatic right?”

 

He rolled his eyes at her, nudging her arm gently until she started walking to one of the tables so they could sit across from each other. “Is there something wrong?” he asked, she didn’t seem upset about anything, but he had no idea why she’d make a scene otherwise. 

 

“No, it’s just that it’s been three days since your date and I hadn’t heard from you. Wasn’t sure if you’d die from cuteness or something,” she smirked, folding her hands on the table in front of her. 

 

He really had no idea what to say to that. “You could have texted,” he muttered. 

 

“I’m not allowed to just come see you?” 

 

“Well, of course you are but -”

 

Wendla looked over at him, brow furrowed. She was trying to figure him out, there seemed to be something that he wasn’t telling her. “Didn’t it go well?” she asked, praying that she was wrong.

 

Melchior shook his head. “No, it went great. He’s great, really fantastic but I just -” he broke off, paused, pulled at his hair for a second.

 

Wendla knew that look. “You haven’t spoken to him since, have you?”

 

Melchior looked away from her, down at the table instead. 

 

She sighed, reached across to grab his hands. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

 

Melchior shrugged, eyes on their hands. “It’s been literally one date and I’m already attached,” he muttered. “Like, everytime my phone beeps I hope it’s him, but it never is and I really have no idea what to say or if I’ll see him again and I just … don’t know what I’m doing.”

 

Somewhat conveniently, because Melchior wasn’t looking at her, Wendla had a chance to smirk at that before she responded. “So you managed to get his number at least?”

 

He nodded, eyes flicking to her for just a moment. “Not sure what use that is when I can’t start a conversation with him.”

 

“Well, have you tried?”

 

He shrugged. “Not really.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “You know, you could just send him ‘hey’. That’s something.”

 

“Yeah but, that’s too … I don’t know, simple? It feels lame, like an afterthought. I don’t want him to think he’s an afterthought. Especially since it’s been a few days now.”

 

She thought about that, tapped her fingers against his for a moment. “What about something longer then? Something like ‘hey, I had a really nice time the other night and I hope you did too’?”

 

Melchior grimaced. “Wouldn’t that make me sound kind of pretentious?”

 

“Melchior, honey, I hate to be the one to break this to you but you  _ are  _ kind of pretentious.”

 

“Yeah, but I don’t want him to know that.”

 

Wendla couldn’t stop herself from laughing. She pulled away from him, covering her face with her hands. She could tell that he didn’t find it amusing at all, which genuinely made it even funnier. “God, you’re so  _ precious _ ,” she managed, between fits of laughter.

 

Melchior wished that she would stop. She was drawing attention to them again and he really didn’t want that. “Look,” he cut in, “I’m nervous, ok? Is that so bad?”

 

When she’d managed to calm down enough she just smiled at him. “Of course not. I forgot what you’re like when you’re nervous.”

 

“I’m attached already,” he explained, “and that’s not a good thing.”

 

“Why not?” 

 

“It’s been literally one date. I don’t even know this guy.”

 

“But you want to.”

 

He nodded, avoiding her eyes again. He’d thought about texting Moritz. It was something that was near constant in his brain, he just had no clue what to say that wouldn’t be  _ weird _ .

 

“Hmm,” Wendla hummed in thought. It had been a long while since she’d seen Melchior like this. It was rare for him to get attached someone, especially so quickly. She could tell it was something that freaked him out. She guessed she couldn’t really blame him for that. “Give me your phone,” she said.

 

“What? Why?”

 

“I’ll text him for you.”

 

Well, it was progress. He could either give his phone to Wendla or he could remain in post-date purgatory for god knew how long. He pulled his phone from his pocket and slid it across the table to her. 

 

“If I know anything about Moritz it’s that he’s far too nervous to text first, so if you don’t, you’re probably not going to hear from him again.”

 

Melchior tried to ignore the instant wave of  _ fear _ that gave him as he watched Wendla unlock his phone.

 

“Camera emoji,” she smiled. “God, he’s adorable.”

 

“Right.”

 

Her eyes flicked to him briefly, smile turning into a smirk as she typed out the message. Wendla quickly pressed send and then handed the phone back to Melchior, holding a finger up to keep his attention. “Don’t read it,” she said. “Just wait for him to text back.”

 

Melchior nodded. “What do I do when that happens?” He regretted the question when she just laughed in response.

 

“I’m sure you can cross that bridge when you come to it. He’s in class right now anyway so you won’t get a reply for a bit.”

 

He had no idea how he was going to thank her for this. 

 

“No need,” she smiled, reading his mind. “Just make sure you get that second date. I’ll leave you alone now. Your manager is kind of eyeing us so I have a feeling your time is up.”

 

“I’ll make you a drink first,” he muttered, getting up and leaning against the back of his chair. “Venti Caramel Frappuccino, right? No whipped cream?” 

 

“You’re so good to me.”

 

He shrugged. “You know you can visit whenever, right?” 

 

“It’s more fun when I have something to tease you about.”

 

***

 

Moritz was more than grateful that his lecture was over. Having a two hour lecture that ran right through lunch was absolutely horrible and he was sure that whoever planned it was the worst kind of person in the world. His only solace was that it was one of the few classes that he shared with Ernst. Their degrees never overlapped entirely but they always managed to snag at least one class together per semester. It helped keep them both sane. 

 

“What are you thinking for the next assignment?” Ernst asked as he made his way down the steps away from the building with Moritz beside him. 

 

Moritz was fumbling for his phone, opting to turn it on incase Ilse or Wendla had texted him. He usually left it off during lectures so there was one less device to tempt his lack of focus with. “I’m trying not to think about it,” he admitted. “I only really have a couple of ideas and I’m not sure which one I should run with.”

 

“Oh, good. I honestly have no idea where to start with mine.”

 

His phone burst to life, vibrating a few times to catch up with the notifications he’d missed. He started reading them over. There were a couple of Twitter notifications, Martha had sent him what he knew would be a ridiculous meme about her classes, Instagram wanted his attention and then there was - Moritz almost missed the last few steps and if Ernst hadn’t held a hand out to catch him he probably would have ended up twisting his ankle. 

 

“Whoa, Moritz, what is it? Are you ok?” he rushed, hand steady on his shoulder. 

 

Moritz’s eyes were wide as he stared down at the name on his screen. “Melchior texted me,” he muttered, barely able to get the words out passed the lump that had formed in his throat. 

 

“Melchior?” Ernst replied. “Oh! That’s right you went on a date with him, didn’t you?”

 

Moritz nodded. He closed his eyes and held his phone out to Ernst. “I can’t read it,” he said. 

 

Ernst quickly unlocked Moritz’s phone and scanned the message. He beamed down at it. “Do  you want me to read it out to you?” 

 

“How bad is it?”

 

Ernst cleared his throat, and ignored the way Moritz told him to stop teasing. “‘Hey, sorry for taking this long to talk to you. I had a really good time the other night and I hope we can do that again soon’,” he read.

 

His eyes snapped open and he reached over to practically snatch the phone back out of Ernst’s hands. “Wait? What?”

 

He laughed, squeezing Moritz’s shoulder. “He wants to go on another date with you!”

 

Moritz stared down at the message. Read it over once, twice, three times. That’s definitely what it said. He looked up at Ernst again. “Holy shit,” he managed, and then laughed, letting Ernst pull him into a hug because he was practically bouncing on the spot with the excitement of it all. 

 

“Ernst,” he muttered, pulling away. “What do I say back?” 

 

Ernst beamed over at him, held his hand out for the phone. “Leave that to me.”

 

***

 

Since Wendla had told him not to expect a text back for while, Melchior had opted for just ignoring the fact that his phone existed entirely. He needed to make it through his shift and if he started thinking about Moritz and the text then he’d get jittery and probably break the coffee machine somehow, and that wasn’t something he could afford to do. So he was just ignoring it all together, and it was working. It worked until his shift was over and he was tumbling through the door to his dorm and flopping down on his bed. 

 

“Long day, Gabor?” Hanschen smirked. He had some textbooks scattered over his bed, but was scrolling through his phone instead of making notes. 

 

“Had a group of seven who all wanted fraps and weren’t very patient,” he replied. 

 

“Vile.”

 

Melchior looked over at him, watched him for a moment. Then it seemed to settle in what he was seeing, and he sat up and scrambled for his phone, ignoring the laugh that was coming from the other side of the room. 

 

“What the hell’s gotten into you?”

 

He dropped it twice but managed to finally get it safely into his hands. He scrolled through his notifications quickly. He’d never cared less about social media in his life. Melchior wasn’t entirely aware of the mostly inhuman sound that came out of his mouth once his eyes locked onto what he’d been hoping for. 

 

“Ok, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Hanschen asked, somewhere between concerned and pissed off. 

 

“Moritz texted me back,” he muttered, eyes staring at the message that he couldn’t even see in its entirety. He was far too distracted by Moritz’s name, and the camera emoji that he was becoming incredibly fond of. 

 

“Wait, since when do you know Moritz?”

 

Melchior looked up at him. “We went on a date, remember?”

 

Hanschen rolled his eyes. “You think I care about what you do?”

 

“Oh right,” Melchior shot back. “You only cared when it was you.”

 

Hanschen laughed at that. “Get off your high horse, Melchior, you never did me and you know it.”

 

He glared at him for a moment, before he turned back to his phone. He couldn’t even unlock it yet. “I don’t know what to do,” he muttered to no one in particular. 

 

Hanschen slid off his bed easily, crossing the room and sitting in front of Melchior. “Text him back,” he said. 

 

“I don’t know what to say. Oh come on! Don’t look at me like that!”

 

He did just that and watched Melchior shrink under his gaze. Hanschen rolled his eyes and held his hand out for the phone. “You’re absolutely useless, you know that right?”

 

Melchior nodded, not looking at him as he dumped his phone in his hand. 

 

Hanschen unlocked the phone and read the text in one swift motion. He smirked to himself. “Fucking nerd.”

 

“What does it say?”

 

“You haven’t read it?”

 

He just shrugged. 

 

“I’m trying to remember the last time you were this nervous about dating someone,” he said. 

 

Melchior looked at him and wondered when Hanschen would stop tearing into him like this. 

 

“It says ‘hey, I’d like that’. Short and sweet, like him.”

 

“What do I say?” he asked. 

 

“What do you want to say?”

 

Melchior swallowed, eyes flicking around the room and looking at anything but Hanschen.

 

“Do you want another date?” he pressed. God, he couldn’t wait to tell Ilse about this. 

 

“Well, yeah.”

 

“Then tell him that.”  Hanschen held the phone out for him. 

 

Melchior didn’t move. 

 

“Really?”

 

He looked down at his hands in his lap. 

 

Hanschen sighed, tapped out something quickly and pressed send. 

 

“Thank you,” he muttered. 

 

“Yeah. Whatever.” he tossed the phone onto the bed and got up, making his way back over to his own. 

 

“How do you know Moritz?” Melchior asked.

 

“He’s pretty much best friends with Ernst,” he replied, picking up his abandoned pen and a blue highlighter. “It’s kind of weird that you two have never met, actually.”

 

Melchior wondered briefly, how everyone seemed to know Moritz except for him. At least he knew him now. He looked down at his phone. It’d only been a few minutes, but he was already on edge as he waited for a reply. 

 

***

 

Moritz was sitting around his and Martha’s little coffee table with her, Ilse and Wendla when his phone vibrated against it. The conversation in the room stopped in its tracks as four pairs of eyes looked at it. Moritz covered his face with his hands immediately. 

 

“I can’t read it,” he muttered. 

 

“This is the best thing that has ever happened to me,” Martha laughed as Ilse picked up the phone carefully. 

 

“Moritz, you’re going to want to read this,” she said, tilting the phone so Wendla could read the text and then handing the phone to Martha.

 

He spread his fingers so he could just manage to see them all, watched as Martha smiled herself silly before handing the phone back to Ilse. “How bad is it?” he asked, incredibly aware that it was the same thing he’d asked Ernst earlier that day. He knew that it wasn’t the best approach to be immediately negative, but that was just how he lived. 

 

“Not bad at all,” she reassured.

 

That seemed to calm him down a little. Moritz swallowed, dropped his hands. “What does it say?”

 

She rolled her eyes at that. “Come on, I know for a fact that you know how to read.”

 

“Just … humor me.”

 

Ilse sighed, though it was only for the drama of it all. “It just says ‘Are you free on Saturday?’, which is surprisingly forward for him.”  _ Good job, Hanschen _ , she thought.

 

“God, I think I’m gonna pass out,” he muttered. 

 

“Got it.” Ilse quickly tapped out a reply and sent it before he could protest.

 

***

 

Moritz:  _ I get to choose what we do this time _

 

“Hanschen, I think I’m dying.”

 

“You’re not dying, you’re just gay.”

 

***

 

Moritz read over the text again and again. He was truly grateful that Ilse had taken some initiative but now he had to come up with a date idea and that was something that he’d always been awful at doing. He was freaking out before he could even register it. He didn’t even  _ know  _ Melchior. Not really. How the hell could he plan a date? Especially a date that he’d actually like.

 

“I’m going to text you an address,” Ilse said, speaking slowly because she could tell Moritz was starting to shut down and she needed the words to get through his skull. “There’s this record store that Melchior really likes. If you take him there he’ll love it. I promise.”

 

He nodded, barely hearing the words. “Wait, a record store?”

 

“Yeah. Like vinyl records. Music stuff. Listen, he’s a big fucking nerd, ok? I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

 

“Nerd? More like hipster,” Martha smirked.

 

“God, especially with that jacket,” Wendla added, already laughing. “You know the one.”

 

***

 

Melchior had no idea how they managed to do it, but before the end of the next day they had a time planned out. All he knew was that he now officially owed Hanschen his life, which was an absolutely terrifying thought. There was no telling what he would do with that kind of power. 

 

***

 

“Martha!” 

 

When Martha appeared in the doorway to Moritz’s bedroom, she could have laughed at the sight, if he wasn’t halfway to a breakdown. Moritz had pulled every single item of clothing out of his closet and they were all scattered around the room, thrown on the bed, piled on the floor. It was an absolute mess. 

 

“I don’t have anything to wear that’s good enough,” he said.

 

She looked at him for a moment before stepping into the room. “What do you mean good enough?”

 

“Cause this is Melchior and Melchior’s really  _ good _ .”

 

She smirked at that. “He’s ok.”

 

“But he is! He is. He’s so good and smart and good and he’s so pretty, Martha. You’ve seen him. I know I shouldn’t call him that but he  _ is  _ and I’m look at  _ me  _ like he has those eyes and his smile  _ god,  _ Martha, it’s so much all at once and all I have is this and how can any of this compare to  _ that _ .”

 

Martha crossed the room quickly, trying her best to avoid stepping on too much. “Sweetheart, you’re working yourself up and it’s not going to help you,” she replied, keeping her voice steady. Once Moritz got caught up in a mood like this it was easy for him to get whisked away. His thoughts spiralling away from him and getting more and more ridiculous as they went. “He’s the one that asked you on another date, remember? I think  _ this  _ is exactly what he wants.”

 

“He can’t see me like this,” he muttered, hands digging into his hair. 

 

“And he’s not going to. You need to breathe, Moritz.”

 

He nodded, closed his eyes for a moment and tried not to think. “Is it weird to be going on a date during the day?” he asked her.

 

“Your last date was during the day,” she reminded.

 

“I know, but aren’t people our age supposed to go on dates at night? Like when the whole world falls away and it’s just the two of you?”

 

“It doesn’t need to be night for that to happen.”

 

She was right. It was exactly what happened last time. “I’m nervous,” he admitted.

 

“You don’t say.”

 

He opened his eyes just so he could glare at her and Martha tried her hardest not to laugh at that. 

 

“Sorry,” she smirked.

 

He shrugged. “I’m an easy target.”

 

“Only sometimes. Now, what did you wear last time?”

 

“Green Day shirt. Red hoodie,” he replied.

 

“Oh, yeah. What a fucking look. Ok,” Martha gazed around the room for a moment, trying to distinguish items of clothing amongst all the mess. “So I’m guessing you don’t want to wear another band t-shirt?”

 

Moritz shook his head. “I can’t wear a sweater because I’m driving and what if it gets hot and I start sweating and that would be fucking gross I can’t do that I -”

 

“Moritz,” she reminded.

 

“Right, I’m doing it again. Sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologise. It’s ok. What about a button-up this time?”

 

Moritz looked around the room absently. “I don’t even think I own a button up.” His wardrobe mostly consisted of ripped jeans, graphic tees and hoodies. He never really had an excuse to dress up.

 

“Yeah, you have that black one. The classy Harry Potter one.”

 

“Oh!” Moritz knew exactly what she meant. It was a shirt that Wendla had bought him for Christmas one year. It was black and had the Hufflepuff crest on the pocket, standing out in bright yellow. He’d never been more grateful for her than he was now. “I, uh, have no idea where that is currently,” he muttered. 

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll find it.”

 

The two of them slowly started shifting through the clothes. Moritz couldn’t even remember seeing it when he was pulling everything out, not that he’d been seeing much of anything at that point. As he was sorting through a stack of band shirts he’d sort of forgotten he had (god, how could he forget Paramore?), he realised that there was something he wanted to say.

 

“I really like him and it’s really bad,” he admitted.

 

Martha didn’t even look up from the pile of jeans she was shuffling through. “You’re allowed to feel things, Moritz. It’s not bad to feel things.”

 

He swallowed. “I know, but it’s fast, right? Too fast?”

 

“It  _ is  _ fast, but sometimes fast is ok,” she smiled. “Oh! Found it!”

 

Moritz just hoped that she was right as she handed him the shirt and a pair of black jeans. “French tuck for Tan France?” 

 

“That’s my boy.”

 

***

 

“Wait, so he’s coming here?” Hanschen asked, watching as Melchior struggled to roll up the sleeves of his shirt for the fifth time. 

 

“Briefly. To pick me up.”

 

“Does that mean he’s driving?”

 

“Yeah. Why?”

 

“No reason,” he smirked. “Ernst says he’s cute when he drives.”

 

He knew Hanschen was trying to get a reaction out of him. He wished that it wasn’t working. “He’s always cute,” he said anyway.

 

“Right answer. Do you want me to be a stand in dad and size him up for you?”

 

He rolled his eyes. “You already know him so what’s the point?”

 

Hanschen shrugged. “It’d make him squirm.”

 

Melchior sighed, giving up on the shirt and just shoving the sleeves up. Hopefully he didn’t look like a complete disaster. “Sometimes you can be really mean.”

 

“You’d know.”

 

He just glared at him. Hanschen was far too amused to care. 

 

“So, what’s the plan?”

 

Melchior pulled at his collar absently. It didn’t seem right. Nothing seemed right. “What plan?”

 

“The date plan.”

 

“I don’t know. Moritz is the one with the plan this time. He hasn’t told me anything.”

 

Hanschen smiled at that. “I think I know where he’s taking you,” he said.

 

“Yeah? Care to tell me?”

 

“Absolutely not. If he’s planned something for you then it’s going to be special.”

 

Melchior pulled his hair absently. Was it uneven or was it just him? “He’s always special,” he muttered.

 

“How would you know?” he teased. “What time is he picking you up?”

 

Everything in the room stopped as there was a knock on the door. Melchior was sure that he couldn’t breathe anymore. 

 

“This is movie worthy,” Hanschen smirked, jumping up to get the door. 

 

“Wait.”

 

“What?”

 

“... do I look ok?”

 

Hanschen just laughed. He pulled the door open just enough that he could see Moritz on the other side. He leaned against the door frame and tried not to let on just how much he was enjoying this. “Moritz,” he greeted. 

 

“Hanschen.”

 

“You look snazzy.”

 

Moritz’s brow furrowed. “That’s not a word you usually say. Does that mean I look -“

 

“Shh,” he laughed. “I’m just teasing. You look great.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Melchior wrenched the door open the rest of the way, glaring over at Hanschen. “Sorry, my roommate can be a bit of a dick.”

 

He gasped, a hand falling against his chest in mock-shock. “You wound me.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“I can’t believe I’ve been to demoted to just ‘roommate’. Is that all I am to you?”

 

“Bye, Hanschen,” he muttered, pushing passed him.

 

“Have fun! Don’t be out passed curfew.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

Moritz offered Hanschen a wave as Melchior started stalking off down the corridor. Hanschen threw him a wink before closing the door again. 

 

“I’m really very sorry about that,” Melchior was saying as he waited for Moritz to catch up. 

 

“Don’t be. It’s just Hanschen”

 

Melchior stuffed his hands in his pockets just for something to do with them. It wasn’t too cold out today so that was something. “Have you known Hanschen a long time?” he asked.

 

“Uh, a few years I think,” he shrugged. “Why?”

 

“I dunno. I guess it’s kind of weird we’ve never met. Until now, at least.”

 

Moritz smiled, looked over at him as they approached the car park. “I think that some things are worth waiting for,” he said.

 

Melchior almost passed out right then and there. 

 

***

 

“I have to warn you now that I’m actually a really nervous driver,” Moritz said, as he pulled his seat belt on and compulsively checked his mirrors.

 

“That’s fine.”

 

“I’m a gay who can barely drive. I’m sorry, that’s kind of just the way it is.”

 

Melchior smiled at that. “I don’t think that’s something you have to apologise for. If you don’t really like driving, I can drive,” he added. 

 

“If you drive, I’ll have to tell you where we’re going and that ruins the surprise.” He knew he was spending too long on his mirrors, but he didn’t really care. Safety was always a priority for him. Especially if he had someone else in the car with him. It meant he was responsible for them as well as himself, and he always took that very seriously. Moritz snagged the AUX cord and nudged it in Melchior’s direction. “All yours,” he muttered. 

 

Melchior plugged it into his phone quickly. His mind scrolling through a million bands. He really wished he’d downloaded some Green Day. Moritz must have liked them since he was wearing one of their shirts last time. Dammit. “I’m going to put on the safest band I can think of.”

 

Moritz nodded, started the engine and flicked on his indicator. “Now I’m curious.”

 

Melchior clicked on the first band that came to mind and hoped that Moritz didn’t hate them. They were sort of the opposite to Green Day. This might have been a horrible idea. 

 

“Coldplay?”

 

For the split second it took for Melchior’s brain to respond, he panicked, but then he looked over and saw that Moritz was smiling. “Is that ok?” he asked.

 

He nodded. “ _ Clocks _ or no deal.”

 

Melchior laughed, quickly flicking through the playlist until he found the song. The piano instantly soothed him. 

 

“Sorry, it helps my driving if I hear something I’m familiar with.”

 

“Don’t apologise. It’s a good song.”

 

The two of them went quiet, letting the song wash over them. Moritz thought that he hadn’t been this  _ content  _ in a long time. 

 

“Can I tell you a story about this song?” he asked.

 

“You could tell me a story about anything and I’ll listen.” Melchior’s eyes widened as he realised what he’d said. Moritz was smiling next to him and he thought he might have been melting. “Sorry that wasn’t - I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

 

“No it was -“  _ cute _ . At least that was what he wanted to say. He wasn’t sure how Melchior would take being called something like that. “I liked it,” he amended. 

 

“Anyways, your story.” He stared pointedly out the window.

 

“So, it’s not really about the song so much as it’s about me.”

 

_ Even better _ , he thought. 

 

“When I was a kid this song used to remind me of Peter Pan. I honestly have no idea why that was. Listening to it now, there’s not really anything to connect them, no lyrics or anything, but I always thought about the movie when I heard this.”

 

“That’s really interesting actually,” he mused. 

 

“Yeah, Peter Pan was my favourite movie as a kid so I guess I thought about it a lot,” he shrugged. 

 

Melchior looked at him for a moment. Moritz was tapping along to the piano against the steering wheel. It was more than endearing. “Peter Pan was your favourite movie?” he asked. 

 

“Yeah. I mean it still is, but I used to watch it, like, weekly. What’s weird is that it was also Ernst’s favourite movie. We didn’t even know each other then. He always says that we’re like platonic soulmates or something because of it. I don’t know if I believe in any of that stuff but it’s kind of a nice thought, you know?” Moritz was vaguely aware that he was turning red the longer he spoke. He didn’t usually open up like this, especially with someone he’d sort of just met. He had no idea why he felt so comfortable around Melchior. He was distracting himself by focusing on the road instead. 

 

Melchior was reaching for his phone before he registered it.  _ Ilse help he’s the most fucking adorable person I’ve ever met in my life _ , he sent. “So does that make this your favourite Coldplay song?”

 

He thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know if I have a favourite. They have a lot of good ones. I don’t really listen to them a lot -“

 

“Oh, sorry.”

 

“No, it’s not - I mean, I don’t listen to them a lot but I’m always happy when I hear them.” 

 

Melchior’s phone vibrated. He gazed down briefly at the text. 

 

I-Patch:  _ Welcome to the Moritz Stiefel fan club. Sign in and get your name badge at the door. We meet every Wednesday _

 

“Is that Ilse checking up on us?” Moritz smirked, eyes flicking to Melchior for a moment. 

 

“Yes and no. You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”

 

“I’m really not.”

 

“What about a clue then?”

 

Moritz laughed. “Ok, fine. It involves something we’ve already been talking about.”

 

Melchior wished that he had any idea what that could mean. He guessed he just had to wait it out then. 

 

***

 

“Are you wearing a Harry Potter shirt?” Melchior asked as he stayed in step next to Moritz while they walked down the street. He had no idea how he hadn’t noticed the blatant Hufflepuff crest before, but he was glad that he did.

 

“Oh, yeah. Wendla bought it for me a few years ago. A mark of mutual house pride solidarity, I think.” He could still remember the way she’d beamed at him while he opened it, fingers tapping impatiently against the floor as she waited for his reaction. 

 

“So you’re a Hufflepuff? Cool. I’m a Slytherin.”

 

“That’s kinda hot.” Moritz was grateful that Melchior laughed at that because he really hadn’t meant for it to come out.  _ Bitch what the fuck, why would you say something like that _ , he thought. “Sorry I - I don’t know where that came from,” he muttered, staring hard at the concrete instead. 

 

Melchior just smiled at him. “No, it’s fine. I mean, you didn’t accuse me of working with dark magic so it’s a positive.”

 

“I mean, dark magic is kind of hot too,” he joked, looking up just in time to see Melchior laugh again.  _ Oof _ . Moritz checked his phone absently, checking the address that Ilse had sent him just as Melchior seemed to realise where they were going.

 

“No way,” he muttered, turning to look at Moritz. He was all lit up and it was just about the most amazing thing Moritz had ever seen.

 

“Does that mean my plan’s worked?”

 

“Moritz, this is, like, one of my favourite places in the whole world,” he laughed.

 

_ Thanks, Ilse. _ “I can’t really take credit for it,” he explained.

 

Melchior shook his head, dismissing the statement. “Have you ever been?”

 

“No, I didn’t even know it existed.”

 

Melchior looked over at him, pausing as they reached the door. “I, uh,” he hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “If you get bored we can just go somewhere else. I could literally stay in here for hours.”

 

“You listened to me talk about long exposure shots last week. It’s my time to listen now.”

 

He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Grateful? Relieved? Either way, he pulled the door open, indicating for Moritz to walk in first. He thought that maybe his heart was going to burst, and that probably wasn’t a good thing. 

 

***

 

While the store hadn’t looked like much on the outside, it was incredibly deep, eventually splitting off into two levels. Moritz wasn’t even sure if he could see the end of it from where he was standing, it felt like it could have gone on forever. He sort of wanted it too. Melchior stopped next to him, pulled at his glasses for a moment. Moritz looked up at him and just marvelled at how  _ happy  _ he looked. He wasn’t sure how he was going to thank Ilse for this, but he knew that he needed to. 

 

“I guess now would be a good time to ask what kind of music you listen to,” he smiled. 

 

Moritz blinked, taking far too long to register the question. He couldn’t really  _ think  _ at the moment. “Usually punk or, like, alternative stuff,” he shrugged. “Green Day, uh, Linkin Park, or anything that kind of sounds like that.”

 

“Loud but meaningful. Got it. That would be …” Melchior trailed off. Moritz wondered if he had the whole layout of this place committed to memory.

 

“Back right corner,” a voice said. The two of them looked at the girl behind the counter. She was leaning against it, flipping absently through a magazine. “You’ll find it pretty easily. It’s near metal and hard rock.”

 

“Thea, you are a legend.”

 

She smirked at him. “It’s not in your usual circles. I’m impressed.”

 

Moritz had no idea what she meant by that but Melchior tried to laugh it off before turning to look at him again. 

 

“Guess we’re off this way,” he said.

 

He nodded, looking back at Thea as Melchior started walking. She winked at him and he had no idea how that made him feel, but somehow he knew that she’d get along with Hanschen. 

 

“So why punk music? You don’t seem to be an angry person?”

 

Moritz couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that. “Do I have to be angry to like punk music?” he teased. “Ilse listens to punk. She’s not very angry.”

 

He shrugged. “Debatable.” 

 

“Ok, point taken.”

 

“I’ve seen her be legitimately scary.”

 

Moritz thought about that for a moment. “Actually so have I, but it always comes from a place of love.”

 

“Like a protective instinct,” he mused.

 

“Yeah. Exactly.”

 

They rounded a corner. The aisles were just wide enough for the two of them to walk next to each other and Moritz started recognising a few of the album covers the further they walked. He guessed that meant that they were getting more into his musical territory. He wasn’t really thinking too much, just following Melchior and knowing that somehow he was happy enough with that. Moritz noticed an album cover out of the corner of his eye that was more familiar to him than anything else in the world and hurtled to a stop. Melchior paused, looking over at him.

 

“See something?” he asked.

 

Moritz smiled, reached out and tapped the record gently. “This was the first album I ever bought for myself,” he explained. “It’s one of the greatest albums of all time.”

 

Melchior looked at it for a moment, reading the name of the band. “Green Day?” he laughed. “Of course.”

 

“I’m not joking. It’s an amazing album.”

 

“I believe you.”

 

He stared at it for a moment. It evoked this familiar warmth inside him. It was an album that’d been through a lot with him. 

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

Moritz looked up. Melchior had moved further down the aisle without him noticing. He nodded, quickly moving to join him again. 

 

“You seem like you’d know,” he continued. He tapped the record next to him. “Is  _ Hybrid Theory _ really Linkin Park’s best album?”

 

“I mean, it’s the best selling debut record of this century.”

 

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

 

He laughed, pulled at his shirt absently. “Yeah, it was the best selling album in like 30 years or something at that point.”

 

“That’s amazing,” he mused. 

 

Moritz nodded. “It’s their best but that doesn’t meant that it’s my favourite.”

 

Melchior wanted nothing more than to hear Moritz talk about his favourite things for all of eternity. “Which is then?”

 

Moritz shifted. He wished he was wearing a jacket so he could ball his sleeves up in his fists. “So it’s kind of an unpopular opinion and it’s also connected to a slightly embarrassing story,” he said. “It’s  _ Minutes to Midnight,  _ actually.”

 

Melchior wished that he knew more about the kind of music Moritz listened to. He could tell that Moritz knew he had no idea what he was talking about.

 

“So my friend Martha, while we were still in high school, was sucked into that whole  _ Twilight  _ thing.”

 

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. Moritz did too.

 

“I know, I know. It was like a whole thing. She even made me watch the movies with her and … they will haunt me forever, truly.”

 

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

 

He shook his head, trying his best not to laugh. “Martha got me to listen to the soundtracks too, and the worst thing about that is that the soundtracks weren’t bad, like, not at all. So, that was where I first heard a Linkin Park song. Which is awful, I know that, but they had a track on the soundtrack for the first movie and it really resonated with me so I looked up the album it was from, which was  _ Minutes to Midnight _ and that was even better. Had some tracks were heavier too which I really appreciated. I used to listen to  _ Given Up _ on repeat because - “ he broke off, realised what he was saying. “Whoa, sorry that got really dark.”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” he replied. 

 

“I was, uh, suicidal for a lot of high school,” he shrugged. “Which is far too heavy to tell you on a second date.”

 

“It’s ok.” 

 

Moritz swallowed, couldn’t really look at him. He had no idea why he’d allowed himself to talk that much. Now he was worried that he’d scared Melchior off, which was definitely the opposite of what he wanted.

 

He wasn’t sure what to say to make this better. “Are you still?” he asked.

 

He shook his head. “I mean, depressed? Absolutely, but I’m not suicidal anymore. I have lows sometimes but it’s not the same as it was so you don’t have to worry about me - not that you  _ would  _ have reason to worry about me but uh - Yeah.”

 

Melchior knew it wasn’t the time to think about how cute Moritz was when he was flustered, not at all, but he couldn’t help it as the thought popped into his brain. He reached a hand out, squeezed Moritz’s shoulder gently. “I’m glad that you had music to pull you through that.”

 

The hand on his shoulder dropped again far too quickly and Moritz could already feel himself missing it. “Your turn,” he said. “What kind of music did you listen to growing up?”

 

“Oh.” Melchior should have expected the question. It made absolute sense. It was the most logical way this conversation could progress. He rubbed at the back of his neck and tried to think. “It’s really different to your stuff,” he said. 

 

“I figured.”

 

Moritz was smirking and Melchior felt his brain short circuit. He shook his head to clear it again. “I was brought up on a weird assortment of jazz and swing music,” he admitted. 

 

“Really?”

 

He didn’t look amused, just surprised. Melchior had no idea why that wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “Yeah, is that weird?”

 

“Not weird. Just different,” he shrugged. “I don’t know anything about jazz.”

 

“It was all my mum’s stuff. She had all these old records from her parents so there’d always be something on in the house. She hated silence so sometimes I’d come home to, like, classical music or something.”

 

Moritz smiled at that. “That sounds really nice.”

 

Melchior shifted on his feet, poked through the pile of records next to him for something to do. “Yeah, I think I still somehow have all of Trovsky committed to memory from days like that.”

 

Moritz took a step closer to him to just to see what would happen. Melchior seemed to be turning distant and he wasn’t sure why. “Do you still listen to it? The jazz and swing stuff?”

 

He nodded. “Yeah, sometimes. It helps me study. Grounds me or whatever.”

 

“Did your Mum play bands and stuff too?” Moritz never really asked about people’s families. He never talked about his own and sometimes he sort of forgot that everyone had parents, since he spent all his time ignoring his. But something in Melchior has shifted when he mentioned his mum and Moritz was just a little bit curious. 

 

Melchior’s eyes flicked up to Moritz for a second before returning to the ground. “Fleetwood Mac,” he muttered. “It was the only band that she attached herself to.”

 

Suddenly Moritz realised that there seemed to be something very wrong. Melchior wasn’t looking at him, still starting at the ground and he seemed uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, did I overstep?”

 

He looked up. “Of course not. You can ask me about anything,” he shrugged. 

 

He spent what he was sure was too long thinking about what to say next. After a moment, Melchior continued walking, tapping every second record like he was trying to keep up a pattern. “Do you have a favourite one of their albums?” he asked, breaking the silence that had formed between them. 

 

Melchior looked back at him and nodded. 

 

“Can you show me?”

 

A beat, and then he nodded again. Moritz wondered what he was thinking as Melchior took off in the opposite direction and he automatically followed after him. 

 

***

 

“I think literally every person I’ve spoken to about it says that  _ Rumours  _ is their best album and they’re right but it’s like you said before, it doesn’t mean it’s my favourite.”

 

Moritz listened as the two of them came to a stop next to an insanely large stack of Fleetwood Mac albums. He guessed if they were one of the most popular bands of all time it was warranted. 

 

“It’s not so much this album, I think, but the title track, which probably isn’t what you’re asking,” Melchior continued. He picked up one of the records.

 

Moritz read the word ‘Landslide’ across the front and nodded. “I think that’s a good choice,” he mused.

 

Melchior smiled faintly. There was something playing in his eyes that Moritz couldn’t place. He continued staring down at it. “When I was little my mum would put this on while she was cooking. It was before my dad came home so she would just have it on as loud as she wanted. She’d dance around with me when  _ Landslide  _ played and she always seemed really sad. I didn’t get it at that time, you know. I was tiny, I didn’t listen to the words, just the music itself and it didn’t seem like a sad song then. Now I can’t even hear the song without crying.”

 

Moritz took a moment to take that all in. Melchior carefully placed the record back with the rest of them and took a shaky breath as he continued to stare at the ground. Then it hit him all at once that Melchior had only been using past tense this whole time.  _ Oh no _ . “Your mum -” he broke off, not really sure how to say it.

 

He nodded, eyes flicking to Moritz. “My senior year of high school,” he muttered. “She made it to my graduation but, uh, not too much longer after that.”

 

“Melchior, I’m sorry. I -”

 

“It’s ok,” he cut him off. “You didn’t know.”

 

“I shouldn’t have asked.”

 

Melchior shook his head. “I said you could ask me about anything, and you can,” he shrugged. 

 

Moritz wasn’t sure what to do, he just he knew that he wanted to  _ comfort  _ him somehow. He placed a hand on his shoulder, the same way that Melchior done done earlier, and hoped that it helped. He smiled so that must have meant something. “Ilse’s big on Fleetwood Mac,” he said, hoping to change the subject just enough that Melchior would be ok.

 

“Yeah. All gays would die of Stevie Nicks, it’s just a fact.”

 

He shouldn’t have laughed, but he couldn’t help it. It made Melchior laugh too and somehow that was enough. He dropped his hand again. “So, what should I know about jazz music?”

 

“What do you want to know?”

 

“Anything and everything.”

 

***

 

There was something different about Melchior when he talked like this. There was a difference in the light in his eyes, the way his hands moved when his words couldn’t quite illustrate his point. Moritz was far too enamoured by it and he knew that. Knew that he shouldn’t have been, but it didn’t seem to be something he could control. When Melchior started slowing down, his words becoming a little more jumbled and quiet, Moritz wondered what was wrong. 

 

“If you want me to stop just say so. I know I’ve been talking a lot. I’m sorry I -”

 

Moritz just looked at him, and hoped that he hadn’t somehow given Melchior the impression that he didn’t care what he had to say. It really was quite the opposite. He’d listen to him talk all day. “No, I like it when you talk,” he said.

 

“Wait.” Melchior’s eyes flicked between the floor and Moritz. “Really?”

 

“Yeah. Is that - is that weird?”

 

He shook his head. “No, it’s just … usually people don’t. I get ... told to shut up a lot, I guess.”

 

Moritz made a mental note to ask Ilse who’d hurt him. “I like it when you talk,” he said again, and marvelled at how Melchior smiled at the statement. 

 

“Thank you.”

 

***

 

Moritz had no idea why time seemed to pass so quickly when he was with Melchior. He wished that it would slow down because before he knew it, a good few hours had passed and he was already getting in his car and checking his mirrors again so he could drive Melchior home. He made a mental note to ask Ilse when it would be ok to go on another date with him, if Melchior somehow managed to want one, because he definitely didn’t want this to end. He handed him the AUX cord as he started the engine. 

 

“Put your stuff on,” he muttered. “Whatever you want.”

 

Melchior carefully plugged the cable into his phone. “You sure?”

 

Moritz nodded.

 

“I have a playlist that’s just, like, a mix of all the stuff I grew up with?”

 

He smiled. “Yeah, that one then.”

 

Melchior laughed, scrolled on his phone for a moment. “I’ll shuffle it and we’ll see what happens.”

 

“If you have a story for each song, I wanna hear it.”

 

“Done.”

 

Melchior seemed restless with the playlist. Moritz wondered if he was searching for a specific song as he skipped a few before landing on something classical that he vaguely remembered hearing in a music class at some point. 

 

“I’m looking for story songs,” he explained. “This is one I know how to play part of.”

 

Moritz’s heart skipped a beat. “What part?”

 

Melchior bit down on his lip and suddenly Moritz wished he wasn’t driving. He couldn’t be trusted with it right now. “The violin bit,” he said.

 

If they weren’t stopped at a red light, Moritz was sure he would have been accidentally responsible for two deaths in that moment. “You play the violin?” he asked, and wondered if he sounded as winded to Melchior as he did to himself.

 

Melchior paused. “I mean, yeah. It’s not something I like to brag about. I was very lucky growing up.”

 

Moritz knew that he had to bombard Ilse later because  _ Seriously where did you find him and how is he perfect?  _ “Is there anything you can’t do?”

 

Melchior laughed. “A lot of things. Really.”

 

He looked over at him and made a mental note to remind himself to never drive with Melchior in the car because they were absolutely going to die at some point and it was going to be all his fault. He took a deep breath and focused on the road instead, hoping that Melchior didn’t notice.

 

“Are you any good?” he asked, because now he was curious. “Violin is something you’re either good at or you’re just awful. There’s not really an inbetween with it.”

 

Melchior shrugged. “I mean, I’ve played it for 10 years so that should answer your question.”

 

Moritz wondered why Melchior had so many layers and why each of them was more attractive than the last. 10 years was a longer commitment than he had to basically anything that wasn’t his friends. He didn’t even think he could imagine himself doing something for that long. Maybe his photography stuff eventually, but he wasn’t sure if that counted. 

 

“Do you play guitar?” Melchior asked.

 

Moritz could feel his eyes on him and he wished it wasn’t as distracting as it was. It wasn’t a fair thought to either of them. “Is that something you can tell?”

 

He shrugged. “You just look like someone who can.”

 

“Yeah I can play, and a bit of uke because it’s similar, but that’s about it.”

 

“One of my friends tried to teach me a bit of piano once. Didn’t really work out.”

 

“Interesting. You have the hands for it.” Moritz winced as soon as the statement came out.  _ Reel it in, you weirdo. You’re going to scare him off _ . 

 

“Do I?” He could see Melchior smirking out of the corner of his eye and somehow that made it even worse. 

 

He tried to shrug it off. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t say that and you’re going to pretend you didn’t hear it,” he muttered.

 

“Hear what?”

 

Moritz wanted to laugh, but really he just felt kind of awkward about the whole thing. He wished that he thought about things before he said them. He needed more practice with that. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologise. They’re kind of fun, all the thoughts that just pop into your head.”

 

Moritz was sure that he was turning red which was more than awful. “I’m glad you find them fun.”

 

“Hey, you don’t have to be embarrassed around me. At least, I don’t want you to feel that way.” 

 

His next words were leaving him before he even registered thinking them. “I actually don’t. Not really. I don’t usually feel this comfortable around other people. I mean, Ilse and others sure but I’ve known them forever. Usually when I meet someone new it takes months, but you’re … different.”

 

“Are you trying to say I’m not like other boys?”

 

Moritz laughed. “No, I just - dammit I was trying to be”  _ romantic? _

 

“You succeeded.”

 

***

 

“If I walk you back to your dorm is that weird?”

 

Melchior closed the car door and looked over at Moritz. The sun was starting to set now, and from this angle, his eyes were almost lit up.  _ Wow. _ “No. It’s actually … kind of sweet.”

 

“Not too old fashioned?”

 

“Old fashioned can be good.”

 

Moritz used his keys as an excuse to shove his hands into his pockets because he was well and truly shaking now and he was praying to whoever was listening that Melchior wouldn’t notice as the two of them started off towards his dorm. He wasn’t sure why he expected more people to be around, or why the fact that there wasn’t was just adding to how nervous he suddenly felt. He kept a careful distance between him and Melchior and thought maybe that would help.

 

“Moritz, we should do this again,” Melchior said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. “I guess it’s again again at this point.”

 

_ Please please please please.  _ “And that’s something you’d like?” he asked. He had no idea why it sounded so strangely formal. He looked up to see Melchior smiling and thought about passing out.

 

“Yeah.”

 

As they approached his dorm room, Melchior started fishing in his pockets for his keys. He only stopped when the door was pulled open. Hanschen was standing on the other side. He leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“Thought I heard you two coming back,” he said, looking oh so casual.

 

Moritz couldn’t tell if he’d reached optimum level of teasing yet or not. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know what that looked like. 

 

Hanchen’s eyes flicked between the two of them before he asked, “Do you need me to leave the room for a bit or something?”   
  


He must have noticed the absolute look of horror on Moritz’s face because he corrected himself. 

 

“Shit. Sorry, Moritz. I forgot for a minute.”

 

“It’s ok,” he shrugged, and stared intently at the ground. 

 

“Moritz was just walking me back,” Melchior explained. 

 

“Ernst always says you’re such a gentlemen,” he smirked. 

 

Moritz rolled his eyes. It made him smile enough that he was content with making eye contact again. “I’ll see you later,” he said. His eyes flicked to Melchior. “Both of you?”

 

“Definitely.”

 

Moritz looked at him for too long. He wanted to spend forever in this moment, but instead he offered both of them a wave and then turned on his heel ready to head off again.

 

“Moritz!”

 

He spun back around what he thought might have been too quickly. How he maintained his balance he had no idea but he was grateful for it. Hopefully he didn’t look too eager. “Yeah?” he muttered, not quite able to look at Melchior. He noticed that Hanschen hadn’t yet slunk away from the doorframe. 

 

“Next time, I get to pick where we’re going.”

 

Moritz had no idea what to say. He wasn’t even sure if he  _ could  _ talk at this point. He silenced whatever the hell his brain was doing (Yelling? Maybe?) and smiled. “Good luck,” he smirked before heading off down the corridor again. 

 

Melchior was left standing there. For a moment he just stared after him before heading into his dorm. “Holy shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as the door fell closed behind him.

 

Hanschen had a weird look in his eyes that was somewhere between impressed and completely surprised. “That was smooth,” he said. “I’ve never seen Moritz be smooth before. It was even … kind of hot?” 

 

It sounded like a question so Melchior nodded, staring off to the side and trying to get his brain to focus on anything except  _ that smirk _ . 

 

“Moritz? Hot? What a concept,” he laughed, before heading back to his bed. He flopped down on it, already pulling out his phone to presumably text either Ilse or Ernst. Or both of them. 

 

Melchior didn’t think he cared. He couldn’t seem to move. “Guess I better think of a third date then.”

 

“You better make it a good one too. He’s really into you.”

 

***

 

Moritz fumbled for his phone with shaking hands. It was going to be hard to drive home in this condition and he was very aware of it, but he could manage. He’d driven after full on panic attacks before. He’d be fine. 

 

Ilse

I need a list of the best Fleetwood Mac songs

For science reasons only

 

TOP 10 ANIME PLOT TWISTS

 

I have

So many questions

 

God

I thought you would never ask 

 

Unleash

 

Firstly all Fleetwood Mac songs 

are the best Fleetwood Mac songs 

so jot that down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone needs clarification of anything you can find me on Tumblr at potter-awakening. Which is where you can also just yell at/with me about these characters in general. 
> 
> Until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try and get a new chapter up of this within the next two weeks. I'm not always the best at schedules but I want to stick to this one. 
> 
> Until next time!


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